The Silent Force
by Elinde
Summary: for Raina. Winter has come early to Arda. Blizzards have closed the mountain passes,thereby trapping Thranduil in Lindon for the forseeable future hundreds of miles away from Míriel, whom he married that spring and can't bear to be apart from that long
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any recognisable cannon characters, places etc. They all belong to Tolkien's estate. **

A/N: This fic is dedicated to Eruraina (Elven Warrior Princess). I hope you like it, Raina, and happy birthday!

A/N 2: I ummed and arred about which category to put this in. I even had to ask for my mum's opinion. But yeah, considering that all the cannon characters are on the LotR list and only one is on the Silmarillion list, this is going in LotR. ^^ I know it's set closer to The Silmarillion times but it isn't really a Silmarillion story. well I don't think it is anyway.

* * *

Erestor stood in the courtyard of Gil-Galad's palace looking up at the sky. The white clouds that had been gathering for the past few days were now relieving themselves of their heavy load; snow. And it was early, very early. It fell lightly at first, the small flakes covering the outside world like sugar icing. But after a few hours the flakes became larger, large enough for six of them to completely cover the palms of the Elves who stood outside in the blizzard. The scribe and unofficial advisor to Elrond laughed and held his hands up to the skies. He may have been a respectable adult but snow filled him with joy as much as it did the elflings who played in it in the city beyond the palace's walls.

"Erestor!"

The advisor turned back to the palace to see Master Elrond running out from the veranda, his foot falls leaving barely a mark on the soft snow. A silly grin was plastered over his face too,

"This is fantastic!" He exclaimed as he drew level with his friend. Erestor started laughing and a flurry of snow promptly blew into his open mouth making him splutter. Elrond pursed his lips to annoy Erestor further, which earned him a snowball on the shoulder. All pretence of adult restraint melted away as a long and slightly too serious snowball fight ensued, stopping only when Gil-Galad leant out of his 2nd floor office window and called Elrond up. Sulking slightly, the two Elves made their way inside, stamping the snow off their boots on the threshold and dusting the powder off their clothes. And they closed and locked the door they'd come through the blizzard was still going strong.

"It must be pretty deep out there by now," Erestor remarked as they traipsed up the carpeted staircases and looked out of every window they could. In all of the east facing ones, snow was collecting on the sill and working its way up the pane. "And there's no sign of its stopping."

Elrond shook his head, "I imagine they're counting the stores of food and wine as quickly as they can in the cellars." Erestor started smiling, "What?"

"Look at us!" He exclaimed, lifting his arms up as he spoke. Elrond's mouth curled upwards too, "We look like a nice pair of drowned rats!"

"It's kind of scary really how much water comes from so few snowflakes."

By now they were walking along the corridor of Gil-Galad's office. The Elvenking poked his head round the door as he heard them approach and waved them in. They weren't the only visitors there. It took Elrond a while to recognise the other Elf, still young yet older than he, standing quietly in a corner nursing a nasty bruise on one temple. He had changed a lot since he'd gone to Hollin to try and learn the craft of metal working; he was wiser, more sure of himself and more muscular. But his eyes still had that darting edge of nervous energy and his hair was that distinctive reddish flaxen colour. He looked at Erestor and Elrond sheepishly. Gil-Galad looked from him to the two dark haired Elves. Erestor licked his lips and approached the recently arrived Elf hand extended,

"Welcome back, Avorn."

Avorn smiled nervously and shook the proffered hand, "It's good to be back, Erestor."

"Don't tell me the snow drove you back?"

"Nay, meldir, I left well before the snow came. My apprenticeship was very basic, just a decade."

Erestor laughed, "So can you now make wonderful buckles to go with the exquisite shoes?"

Avorn nodded, "And rings, pendants, brooches, that sort of thing."

Erestor nodded and an awkward silence descended. From behind his friend, Elrond waved his welcome and Avorn smiled and nodded back. The stiltedness all round was hardly surprising; it wasn't that Avorn wasn't well liked here – quite the opposite in fact – but even for Elves ten years was a long time. The only time all four of them had been together during Avorn's apprenticeship was when they all went to Greenwood for Thranduil and Míriel's wedding the previous spring, and they had only stayed there for a few weeks. After a while, Gil-Galad turned to Avorn,

"Tell them how you got that bruise."

Avorn lifted the damp cloth off his temple, the skin underneath was broken and a sickening shade of purple. He folded the cloth back on itself and applied the fresh side to the injury, "The snow's covered all the north of Arda. If you think it's bad here you should see the coverage on the Blue Mountains. In some places it's as deep as two men and snow was still falling when I left the foothills behind. I fear it is even deeper over the Misty Mountains."

Erestor and Elrond looked at each other in shock; snow that deep was common in mid winter but autumn was barely over. They wondered how many travellers were now stranded for the foreseeable future.

"The mountains were just about impassable when I crossed them. Not even the Eagles are flying over them because of the blizzards," Avorn continued, "I must have caused dozens of avalanches-"

"And you were caught up in one by the looks of things," Elrond interrupted.

"Mae," Avorn said, sheepishly, "the last one I cased, on the foothills. I rode over an overhang which gave way. I lost my horse and cracked my head on a rock." Elrond winced audibly. Avorn smiled, "Mae, the snow round about was rather red when I finally pulled myself out. Everything went black for a long while but somehow I got myself here."

"You have already proved that you are made of tough stuff, Master Avorn," Gil-Galad said, kindly.

"I wish I could stop proving it."

"We'll have to ration out provisions, I fear," Gil-Galad continued, "This snow may well be here for a long while. Erestor, I put you in charge of that." Erestor bowed.

Silence descended again as footsteps approached the office. Erestor straightened up and Gil-Galad sat down in the chair behind his desk, "About time!" He exclaimed, "I was wondering when he'd get here.

"Minno!"

Through the still open door stepped the last person any of them, bar Gil-Galad, expected to see.

"They found you, I see," Gil-Galad said, kindly, "I doubt they expected you to be in the depths of the library."

"When did you get here? And where have you been?" Erestor exclaimed.

"About a week ago," Gil-Galad answered on Thranduil's behalf, "And I do apologise; I forbade him from socialising before he sorted out some documents for me." He turned back to the prince, "Are they sorted now?"

"Yes, my lord, and may I say that half of your current documents were dangerously out of date?"

Gil-Galad laughed, "You may indeed, and thank you for sorting them out for me."

Thranduil shrugged, "That's what you asked me to do in your letter."

Erestor, Elrond and, to a certain extent, Avorn watched the calm exchange nervously. Usually the king and the prince were at each other's throats tooth and nail. The three of them were too busy wondering at the civilities to notice what Thranduil was wearing but Gil-Galad did and he felt one of those rare pangs of sympathy for the Sinda. Thranduil was dressed for travelling. His heavy woollen cloak was fastened round his neck with his equally heavy emerald brooch. His battered leather satchel was full of everything he'd brought in it. Gil-Galad's pitying expression slowly filtered through and his own one of satisfaction at a job well done began to falter.

"Are you..." Gil-Galad trailed off.

"Going home? Aye. My work here is done and, much as I love the three of you," he nodded towards Erestor and Elrond and then turned and nodded at Avorn, "right now I'd like to spend as little time away from home as possible." The three lords shared a look of stupid realisation; Thranduil was still on a high from the marriage. Gil-Galad closed his eyes slowly and leant back in his chair. He breathed in and out slowly; Thranduil became more nervous.

"I'm sorry, penneth."

Thranduil looked between the four of them, blinking and bemused, "Why? What for?" There was an edge of panic in his voice now.

"You can't go home yet."

Thranduil snorted, "I don't see why! I have done what you wanted and now I wish to return home before the passes close."

"Have you looked outside?"

"Of course! But a little early snow isn't going to hold me up. It's too early for anything substantial."

Thranduil's enforced optimism was heartbreaking, especially seeing as he usually had a 'half-empty' outlook on life. Gil-Galad couldn't look him in the eye, "Avorn, would you care to explain?" Thranduil turned his now outwardly distressed countenance on Avorn who cringed and looked at the floor,

"This isn't just an 'early snow-snowfall'. The... the blizzard has blocked the passes over the Blue Mountains," he stammered, "and... and the Misty Mountains are almost certainly im-impassable. Not... not even the Eagles are flying over. The snow's falling too... heavily."

Thranduil looked like he'd been hit. He stood there immobile for what seemed like an age. But slowly he turned back to Gil-Galad, seemingly on the verge of tears. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat but was unable to,

"W-w-what do you propose I do, my lord?"

"With great care, one might traverse one mountain range in conditions such as these," Gil-Galad said slowly, "but two is sheer madness."

Thranduil, suddenly mobile again, marched across the short stretch of floor between him and Gil-Galad and slammed both hands down on the desk. He bowed his head as he tried to control his expression but Gil-Galad could see he was trembling.

"Nothing will be moving until the snow thaws somewhat," Gil-Galad continued, watching the Sinda carefully. Normally he would have boxed the blonde's ears long ago but he knew Thranduil was in great distress now. "Therefore I suggest we have one of best guest rooms made up and you stay here for the time being."

A drop splashed on the leather tacked to the top of the desk but when Thranduil looked up at him there was little evidence to show that he was actually crying, "That isn't an option, my lord."

Gil-Galad waited a while before speaking to show he had heard Thranduil's rebuke, "The first thing to do is write to your father and wife and let them know the situation," he stood up and paced up and down a little in front of the window. Snow was slowly yet surely creeping higher and higher up the other side of the glass. Erestor, Elrond and Avorn remained motionless, not daring to speak. "We don't want them worrying now, do we?" Gil-Galad continued. "And we'll send a messenger bird as soon as there's a weather window." Thranduil didn't move so Gil-Galad, feeling strangely fatherly towards his usual scratching post, placed a hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "Come now, it's not that bad! Many people got married just before the wars and never saw their spouse again. I imagine a long separation during the first year is a very trying time but things could be worse!"

Thranduil threw the hand off his back and whipped round to look Gil-Galad in the eye. The Sinda couldn't hold his fury at nature back any longer, "I know it could be worse!" He screamed. Gil-Galad took a small step back and raised an eyebrow at the prince. Thranduil looked around at the others, breathing heavily as he fought to hide the extent of his feelings, "And with all due respect, Sir, you can't even begin to imagine how hard the mere _suggestion_ of spending months away from her is to bear. And as soon as there's a 'weather window' I'll be off so you'd better send the letter sooner than that, sire."

Gil-Galad shook his head slowly, "You shan't be going anywhere until I am satisfied that the passes are safe again. That's the problem with you and your father; you're too headstrong. Mind it isn't the death of you."

"It won't be!" Thranduil hissed, but controlled his voice better when he added, "But I am still leaving as soon as I can."

"You are leaving on my say so," Gil-Galad repeated, calmly.

Something clicked in Thranduil's brain and his eyes went icy, their depths bordering on savage. He stared at Gil-Galad for a few moments and then flew out of the room like a whirlwind before he ruined the good will between the two usual rivals. Gil-Galad and his lords watched the corridor beyond the door for a long while after.

"Do you think the snow will thaw in the near future?" Erestor asked.

"No," Elrond said with great confidence, "this is the start of a long winter."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So seeing as I'm still stuck inside surrounded by ice and snow (thawing now, thank goodness) I thought I'd update again XD Mind you that was the plan anyway, I just wanted to point out that this story was inspired by the UK's freak weather. O.o A Brit inspired by the weather? Unheard of!

A/N 2: If I don't write London instead of Lindon at some point it'll be a miracle.

* * *

It was a very unenthusiastic Thranduil who followed the butler up the stairs to his new room. He didn't see why he had to have a butler; there wasn't exactly much to carry. Just a medium sized bag, full of a few changes of clothes - some formal, some casual – a spare pair of boots and a small box of jewellery. He couldn't take much because whatever he brought had had to be balanced in front of him on Gwaihir, who had pitied his old friend and offered him a lift to Lindon, where a horse was waiting to carry him on the final leg, thereby cutting the journey time from weeks to days. It had been a cold journey; he hadn't dared fly in his 'proper' clothing, even though he was going over two mountain ranges, because of Gil-Galad's policy of having all bags and their contents checked. What did he think his butlers would find anyway? Now Thranduil thought about it the lack of coat had been a bad omen. The lack of his immortal horse, Eryn, was also not exactly desirable. All this went through the young prince's mind as he and his chaperone marched along the richly carpeted corridor and stopped in front of a solid oak door.

"Here's your new room, Ernil Thranduil," the Elf said, putting the bag on the floor by his feet and rummaging in a pouch on his belt for the keys. Thranduil leant against the panelling on the wall, still in his cloak and with his satchel strap across his chest. It seemed wrong to move from one guest room to another, and the move only increased the prince's feeling of entrapment despite the fine intentions behind the decision. The butler found the right key, finally, and held it up for Thranduil to look at it with a satisfied grunt.

_What do you want, a medal?_ Thranduil sighed audibly, folded his arms and looked away down the corridor. The satisfied smile faded swiftly from the butler's face and he coughed self-consciously. "Right," he muttered, fitting the key into the lock and turning. The door swung open on well oiled hinges. The butler began to smile again but quashed it as he looked back at Thranduil, who hadn't moved. So he coughed again, more quietly this time, picked up the bag and lead the way into the room. Reluctantly, Thranduil followed.

'Stunning' was by no means an adequate description of the room. It was spacious, more like a drawing room that happened to have a bed in it than a bedroom with a chair and a small table by the fire as the one Thranduil had just left had been. Thranduil guessed one could comfortably hold a meeting of half a dozen people in there and not appear foolish in doing so. The walls were covered in patterned fabric of a deep blue. The dark wooden furniture suited the room like leaves suit a tree. The bed was in one corner of the room; it had a high headboard though it wasn't a four-poster; there were no four-posters in any of the Elven palaces Thranduil had been in. Even though everything else in the room suggested that it slept just one person, the bed was a double. This has always confused the prince but now it just irked him. _Rub my face in it, why don't you?_ The butler placed the bag at the foot of the bed and turned to face his charge, trying to keep his smile in the face of Thranduil's obviously foul mood.

"Is the room to your liking, your highness?"

Thranduil stepped into the room, unfastening his cloak as he did so and draping it over the nearest chair. "Well it isn't mine which immediately eliminates the possibility of a moderate to high score," he replied, venomously, "but other than that..." He had no intention of finishing the statement. The butler put on a wavering smile of forced optimism as Thranduil swung his satchel onto the same chair and span slowly round, taking in everything. He stopped when he was facing the butler for the second time, "Why wasn't I put here as soon as I arrived?"

"Well," the butler stammered, catching the prince's eyes for the first time and promptly becoming terrified; Thranduil stood between him and the only exit, "as your highness can appreciate this room is saved for the most important guests... the most... high ranking."

"And, pray," Thranduil asked, taking a step towards the servant, "just how high ranking do you have to be to warrant a stay here?" The butler opened his mouth and closed it again. "Because I would have thought the position of Elvenprince to be pretty damn high!"

"As it is, your highness!" The butler squeaked, "But please don't shoot the messenger!"

Thranduil whipped back round, agitated, and strode over the mantelpiece away from the butler, "I'm sorry. Thank you, you have been most helpful I'm sure. Now get out."

The poor butler was so nervous that he did the classic walking backwards so as not to look away from Thranduil. He bowed shakily on the threshold and held up the key, "I'll... put this on the table here, shall I? So your highness knows where to find it."

"Put it wherever," Thranduil replied, tracing the cup and ball decoration that ran just below the top of the mantelpiece, "I'll just pick the lock if I can't find it."

"Yes, yes, of course. How silly of me," the butler found himself saying. He put the key down as quickly as he could without seeming rude, bowed again and left.

Thranduil watched the servant's heels disappear from view before marching over and slamming the door, causing the poor butler to jump quite three feet in the air a very short way down the corridor. He glanced over his shoulder at the door he'd opened a few minutes ago, while clasping the fabric around his collar and wringing his hands. Then he literally ran back along the corridor and down the stairs and didn't stop running until he reached the kitchens on the ground floor. Once there, he recounted the tale of his adventures and told anyone who'd listen just how tyrannical the young prince could be, which in turn lead to the general consensus that with extreme beauty came extreme emotions, usually of the negative kind. They, of course, did not know just how long Thranduil and Míriel had waited to be married - few did - and how much even a mere 24 hours of separation tore at them so soon after the 'happiest day of their lives'. They assumed Míriel had been asked by various court members and had agreed because Thranduil was a prince and she loved him well enough. And besides, when the rumours were bouncing around the kitchens that evening, few could believe that one with such a temper 'about nothing' could feel such strong positive emotions as true, so long forbidden love.

Thranduil was blissfully unaware of how much animosity his bad temper was creating among the servants and even if he had been he probably wouldn't have cared in his current mood. He had thrown himself on the bed soon after slamming the door behind the butler and was currently gazing up at the ceiling with glazed-over eyes.

How could he be stuck here for his first winter as a married Elf? How could he miss going out tentatively on the morning after the first snowfall with Míriel, stepping carefully onto the fresh snow together, lifting up their feet together and laughing like children at the prints left behind. Making the first tracks in the new snow, spoiling the perfect blanket over the ground. Scampering after the forest animals and 'aww'ing over the tracks their quarry left in the snow. Exploring the new magical wintery world of the forest. Squealing as snow slid off the branches up in the canopy and landed on their heads. Throwing stones onto the ice over the pools in the glades. Seeing if it would take their weight (and sometimes finding it couldn't). Breaking the ice with a stick (sometimes in revenge). True they had done that every winter that it had snowed since Thranduil came over the mountains with the rest of the Sindar, but they were married now and this first winter was to be cherished like the first spring, summer and autumn they had spent as husband and wife.

And what if he was still here for the Solstice? He would miss the winter festival; the feast that started at dusk, followed by a dance that lasted until dawn. The longest night of the year hurried away with singing, dancing and general merry-making. The night time festivities, with the cold trying to press its way in from the outside, was far more romantic than its opposite celebration in summer: the holy and ivy decorations; the candles which lit the halls and, of course, the kissing under the mistletoe. They had eaten and danced together ever since the Sindar arrived, of course, and kissed under the mistletoe ever since they decided to confirm public suspicion but this year, _this year_ they were married. Different rules applied.

No; he couldn't be stuck here. He _wouldn't _be stuck here.

Blinking away the unbidden tears, he got up and went over the window. The snow had obscured half of all the panes by now so he unlatched it and flung the window open. Cold air blasted in his face taking him aback slightly, but he leant out nonetheless and faced the oncoming storm. It was impossible to see whether the clouds were moving or not but if they were clearing Gwaihir might just be able to fly over and take him back. He had left himself just four weeks to get back before the solstice and he realised that that wasn't enough time to make the journey by horse even in optimum conditions and with his having left that day. _And yet she let me go. Maybe she doesn't realise how far Lindon is from Amon Lanc. Or maybe she just doesn't care for firsts as much as I do. _He leant out of that window for as long as he could bear but eventually the cold and the snow beat him and he had to retreat to the warmth of his room. The snap of the window's lead frame against its wooden case and the click of the latch falling back into place were strangely satisfying.

oOo

"Tea?"

From his place on the windowsill, Thranduil looked long at the beverage in Gil-Galad's hand and quickly dismissed it. _'Tea; the solution to everything.'_ He went back to resting his head against the cold glass of the Winter Hall's window, with his right knee resting against the panes and his left leg stretched out in front of him, and watching the flakes fall as thick and fast as ever outside.

"I'll leave it here then," the king said, placing the cup on the other side of the narrow wall separating Thranduil's window from the next. Gil-Galad leant against this same piece of wall, sipped his own cup of tea and watched the snow's progress from around the Sinda's head. "Sitting here moping isn't going to help," the king pressed. Thranduil shifted somewhat but said nothing. "Why don't you find Avorn, Erestor or Elrond? They must be about on a day like this! I'm sure they'd be more than happy to try and cheer you up."

_What if I don't want cheering up? You haven't thought of that one, have you, Master Know-it-all?_

Gil-Galad shifted and stood quietly for a while, thinking. Eventually he pushed off the wall and began to walk away. Before he got very far, though, he stopped and half turned to face Thranduil again. What he said next would stick with the young Sinda for the rest of his days:

"There are always at least two options, penneth. Even if one of them is completely ludicrous and would only be attempted by one who had completely taken leave of his senses, it's still there."

Thranduil made a non-committal noise so Gil-Galad gave up, for the time being, and strode regally out. Wood spat in the fireplace and Thranduil watched the door Gil-Galad had gone through as though checking that he was really alone. What did Gil-Galad know about anything? But annoyingly he was right; sitting around moping didn't tend to solve anything however nice it felt to feel sorry for oneself every now and then. So he slid off the ledge and went looking for people.

He found them relatively easily and, as expected, they were all together, standing in a loose knot in one of the larger reception rooms, gazing out of the large windows at the extensive lawns, now blue-white with untouched snow – the snow was too deep now for even Elrond to consider dancing in it. None of them moved when Thranduil came up to join them; as is the way with close friends no welcome was necessary.

"I doubt you could even open those doors now," Erestor stated pessimistically yet truthfully, "not without a small avalanche of snow slipping inside."

"I wouldn't want to go out there anyway," Avorn replied, "far too windswept."

"I think I may have to," Thranduil muttered, to which Erestor ad Elrond snorted.

"Didn't you hear what Gil-Galad said yesterday? No one is leaving until he gives them permission!" Elrond exclaimed.

"He'll have to give me permission then."

"What's so bad about staying here anyway? You came here of your own accord-"

"I know! There's nothing bad about the palace just the fact that I'm now stuck here."

"As are we."

"But this is your home."

"But surely this is like a home from home for you, you've been here enough times! And you elected to come here; you elected to spend weeks away from Míriel in winter. You can hardly complain now."

"But I thought I was coming home in a few weeks when I left, didn't I? I chose to be here up till yesterday, now that I'm here against my will everything has changed."

"Nothing has changed. So you're stuck here longer than you thought, so what? It's not like you aren't ever going to see her again."

Thranduil huffed and turned away, biting his lip. Elrond smiled smugly, believing that he'd won that little argument.

"Are we just going to stand here," Thranduil asked presently, "or are we going to do something?" He began pacing round the room's perimeter, loosely measuring the distance.

"We could sing one of the lays," Avorn suggested, "That'd take up plenty of time." The others looked at Thranduil hopefully, willing him to volunteer to be the singer. But the Sinda didn't falter in his measuring and he continued marching along the wall opposite them.

"Too static," he said eventually.

"We could make a wreath. There's lots of holly and ivy in the stores already-"

"No, Elrond, just no."

"Why not?"

Erestor resisted the urge to kick the lord; _Drop it, for Eru's sake._

"I have no wish to be reminded of the celebrations I shall miss if I stay here."

"Well what if _I_ wish to make a wreath?"

"No one's stopping you," Thranduil snapped, now walking along the final wall and therefore towards the others. "It's a large space, this room." They all looked around them. Thranduil was right, it was a vast space. And an empty one; vast stairs in one corner showed that at busier times this was one of the thoroughfares of the palace that anyone and everyone bustled through. Therefore there was no furniture, just the stairs, a fireplace and the doors and windows. "This would be a good place for sparring."

"But," Elrond countered immediately, "we aren't allowed to spar in the palace. Law states that blades are not to be drawn in the halls."

"The same was true in Menegroth yet Saeros was sorely tempted," Thranduil countered.

"But he was killed,"

Thranduil smiled icily, "I know that, I heard the shouts." Elrond pouted and began to say something but Thranduil cut across him, "And I wasn't backing the winning team so I'd watch what you say." Suddenly, Elrond didn't want to say anything. "So," he raised his eyes and looked at Erestor and Avorn, "sparring?" Avorn shifted nervously and glanced at Erestor, who sighed,

"I'll fetch Lagorment."

Thranduil's grin now nicely showed his teeth, "And I'll fetch Nimlhach."

oOo

"You're going. too. fast!" Elrond moaned, franticly parrying blows but being swiftly backed into a corner (again) all the same.

"Either that or you're going too slow," Thranduil countered, resting the tip of his sword on the fabric of Elrond's tunic for a second before stepping back and letting the Noldo catch his breath.

"Can't you slow down a little?" Avorn implored as Elrond straightened out his tunic and nursed his bruised pride, "You have had rather more practice than Elrond."

"And why would I do that? Would the enemy do that? 'Oh, am I going to quickly for you, master Elf? I do apologise. I shall forgo the prospect of killing you quickly to enable you to have a good crack at me.'"

"I'm not used to Erestor's sword!" Elrond added, "He handles differently to my own."

"Aww-" Thranduil began, patronisingly, but Erestor quickly cut across him,

"Elrond isn't going to get any better if all he does is walk backwards and block, is he, Eldu?"

"I suppose you're right," Thranduil admitted, watching as Elrond shifted his grip on Lagorment's hilt, "Are we good to go again?"

"So long as you give me half a chance," Elrond muttered.

Thranduil nodded and soon the hall rang once more to the clang of metal on metal and Thranduil's yelled commands; "Move your feet! Good, now block, now lunge. Don't dither, do it! Very good! Now if I step here where do you go? No not _there_; in a battle you'd be dead now." Erestor and Avorn watched the match from a safe distance, also yelling advice every now and then. But eventually Elrond's concentration slipped and he held up his hands,

"I can't do any more."

"Be glad you have that option," Thranduil said, but smiled despite his severe tones. Though he'd never admit it teaching nearly always cheered him up. "You're a fine swordsman, you just need the practice."

"I don't need to practice; healers aren't sent into war."

"No, but heirs are."

"I'm not an heir-"

"You think not?" Elrond stopped dead and looked at Thranduil nervously, "Don't fool yourself, penneth, you know as well as everyone else that if anything happens to Gil-Galad before he has a blood heir you will take ownership over these lands."

"I don't want that kind of responsibility."

"And I don't want to be a prince; life's tough, get used to it."

"So why haven't you accepted being snowed in here yet?"

Erestor moved cautiously into the line of Thranduil's venomous glare and eased Lagorment out of Elrond's grip. "Come, meldir," he said to Thranduil, "let me give you a proper match."

Elrond dragged his feet as he joined Avorn and watched the well matched Thranduil and Erestor dance across the hall, each coming within a hair's breadth of winning the match many times but never quite making it.

"Of course at this point," Thranduil called out when the flat of both blades were pressed against each other and the Elves were using their weight to try and sway the match, "in an actual battle just bite your opponent."

"Wha-?" Erestor exclaimed. His concentration slipped and Thranduil seized the opportunity and pushed his opponent away before swinging Nimlhach round and stopping just before the blade bit into Erestor's neck. "Not fair!" The dark haired Elf exclaimed, stepping away from the blade and shifting his grip on his own sword.

Thranduil looked around, "What? In a battle there are no rules. Orcs wouldn't think twice about biting any of us so why should we act any different?"

"Because we're Elves..." Erestor said slowly.

"Yeeess, but a dead Elf is no use to anyone."

Erestor looked at him askance, "There's more to fighting than staying alive, you know."

Avorn stepped forward now, "Thranduil? Is it my turn now?"

Thranduil grinned as Erestor handed his sword over to Avorn.

"He's right, though," Avorn told the others, "You don't get anywhere against yrch if you refuse to fight by their rules." The pair slapped hands and then the clang of sword on sword began again. The match swiftly deteriorated, however, and the first one ended with Avorn sat on top of Thranduil, who was flat on his back, with his hands round the Sinda's neck.

"I think," Erestor said, slowly, as Avorn got up and helped Thranduil up too, "that we had better stick to swords from now on."

"Or stop altogether," another voice cut in. All Elves looked over at the stairs and all felt their heart sink. There was Gil-Galad, wearing the expression of someone who had finally caught a troublesome acquaintance red-handed. Which of course he had. "Am I right in assuming that _you_, Thranduil, are the cause of this... rule-breaking?" Elrond, Erestor and Avorn nodded. Thranduil tried to make himself look more impressive and failed. Gil-Galad made his way down the stairs with the air of someone long-suffering, "You are well aware of the rules of the palace, are you not?" Thranduil nodded. "Therefore I would be quite within my rights to take both Nimlhach and Lagorment off you and keep them until a time I deem appropriate to restore them to you." He looked at Thranduil for a long time and both knew what that would mean; Thranduil would have to wait until Gil-Galad gave him his weapon back or leave for Amon Lanc sans sword.

"There is nowhere else to practice, sir," Thranduil explained.

"You could have simply _not_ practiced."

Not even Thranduil could think of an answer to that. Gil-Galad floated down the rest of the steps and regarded the four younger Elves with a critical eye, "However I understand your collective frustration. Being trapped inside must be especially trying for those used to spending most of their time out of doors. Therefore I shall turn a blind eye this time but know this, Thranduil, if you draw blade inside ever again I shall come down on you like a tonne of rocks. Understand?"

"Perfectly," Thranduil muttered, sheathing Nimlhach as Avorn sheathed Lagorment. Gil-Galad cast a final critical eye over the group before sweeping away to see to one of his many kingly duties. At the door he remembered something and turned,

"The snow's easing off now, ernil. Maybe it would be a good idea to write those letters sooner rather than later." Then he was gone. Thranduil stood still for a while, nursing his hurt pride. Only two people could tell him what to do and neither of them was Gil-Galad. Yet he obeyed like a dog. What was wrong with him?

"Shall I take your sword to the armoury?" Avorn asked, holding out his free hand for Nimlhach. Thranduil looked at him as though he thought him mad,

"Why should I do anything other than keeping Nimlhach with me?" He asked, turning his back on the group and hurrying up the stairs Gil-Galad had just come down. He kept up that pace until he reached his room, where he stood, agitatedly fishing in his pockets for the key for a long while before he found it. It may have been quicker to pick the lock but he'd left his cloak and more importantly brooch – behind which was concealed the wire he used for such things – in his room. He finally strode into the room in a huff, flinging Nimlhach onto the bed and slumping in a chair. They would think him unpredictable now. Good; he was unpredictable. Maybe he should make that part of his reputation. He watched the flames crackle in the grate – someone had been in and relit the fire while he was sparring; someone had a spare key. He would take more care of his possessions in future.

_If it has stopped snowing here_ he thought _then it must have stopped everywhere to the east, unless another front is coming in. But we would never know that._ He sank deeper into the chair and put his fingertips together in thought. _I wonder if there are any birds around..._ He jumped up again and flung the window wide. He was met with a still, white landscape. Only the tops of the hedges round about showed above the blanketing snow. _It must be deep. You may well get farther on foot than by horse; horses would get stuck. _He put his cupped hands to his lips and called like a screech owl and waited. _Maybe there really aren't any birds around._ But presently, a swift flew onto the window frame a chirruped. This was good luck, swifts flew all over Arda. He knelt down so the beady eye of the bird and his bright sapphire one were more or less level.

"What is your wish, my prince?" The swift asked. More good luck; this swift frequented Eryn Galen.

"Fly to Lord Gwaihir as quickly as you can and ask him to meet me as soon as possible at the same place that he dropped me off. He'll know where that is."

"But that is over both mountain ranges!" The little bird exclaimed.

"I know, but there's someone I can't let down."

The bird fluttered its wings in annoyance but it loved the wood Elves who doted on it and made sure it had enough to eat, "Alright, I shall do as you ask. And I shall fly back and find you if the way is blocked."

Thranduil smiled broadly, "Hannon-le, meldir. You have no idea how important this message is to me." The bird hopped round on its perch as Thranduil stood up again, and flew off and he dusted off his knees. The Elf leant out of the window and watched the bird fly into clear, pale blue skies until it was beyond the sight of even his eyes. Then he closed the window with that satisfying click and set about packing for the journey. He'd have to leave the contents of the bag here, of course, and put everything he needed in his satchel. Getting food could be interesting, especially if Erestor decided that it needed to be rationed out. But that would be no more than a nice challenge, the Sinda felt.

He laughed quietly to himself, "'We may be able to send the letters.' What does he think I am, a coward?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: well I'm back! Finishing my on-going stories is my not-NaNo November writing project. I've decided NaNo's not for me: I can either write erratically and well, or to a deadline and… terribly. I've also come to think that Thranduil is to me what the Silmarils were to Fëanor, ie I've put some of myself into writing his character so I can never write any character as well again. I've decided to try to finish this story first because, although it isn't snowing, it is once again cold and I want to finish this story before Raina's next birthday. I think this chapter's going to be on the short side but we'll see. I don't think my writing's all that good but I blame NaNo for that: it eats confidence. There's an error in here that I spotted when reading through but I can't find it now...

Thank you to all my loyal readers who put up with my month-long silences and sudden chapter dumps. I write for you, always! xx

* * *

Dawn was a brighter affair than usual. The sun's rays glinted off the white landscape and shone into windows, waking their inhabitants with varying degrees of annoyance. Elrond sat bolt upright, rubbing his eyes and cursing the world. Erestor blinked several times as the light dazzled his open eyes and stumbled around his room until the coloured dots had disappeared from his vision. Avorn had somehow shifted so his head and feet were hanging off the sides of his bed. His brow creased as he tried to work out who had turned the room upside down during the night and how. Then he became aware of his splitting headache and cursed loudly. Gil-Galad joined in the dawn chorus though for a different reason; he had drifted into Elven dreams whilst writing up a report and now, hours later, the parchment was badly blotted. Thranduil sat at the window with one cheek resting on the glass, looking out through the steamed up panes and listening to the cries from the rooms around him. He had never fallen asleep. He hadn't even moved since closing the window after sending the swallow on his mission. He had been missed at diner but food was boring. As the prince finally stirred from his position and changed his clothes, he had a plan.

A short while later, the prince stood in front of the full length ornate mirror, adjusting his collar with a surly expression on his face. It suited the outfit, in fact a degree of disgust or anger was required if he was to do it justice. It was a replica of a much older outfit which he had brought only as a spare. There was less embroidery, picked out in gold thread, on his white tunic than there had been on the original but Greenwood wasn't as rich as Doriath had been. Also unlike the original, there was no gold on the white shirt, hoes or belt but the prince's hair – _which,_ Thranduil thought, _is far too long_ – made up for this. He freed it from his collar now and, as it fell into its proper position, the Sinda smiled. _I may not have the king's advisor's venom but I have his presence when I want it._ He moved from the mirror and from the wardrobe produced the real reason why these clothes had come off their hangers: the white and gold boots Avorn had made for him for his wedding present. Thranduil didn't wear them as often and Míriel wore the court shoes Avorn had made for her, but then the princess practically lived in them as though she had no others. None of the Greenwood royals had yet got used to the strange and wonderful phenomenon of having money, not even Oropher who had been king for centuries and had the whole treasury at his disposal. As he left, Thranduil ran his hand across the soft fabric of a medium blue cloak but decided against wearing it.

He slammed the door behind him. He was feeling calmer now that he had a course of action but he was still trying to make the door hinges creak before he left for home. On the stairs to the breakfast room he met Gil-Galad, carrying the blotted parchment like a wounded animal. Thranduil was about to pass him when Gil-Galad haled him.

"Two questions," He began, half boxing the prince in. Thranduil looked levelly into the king's eyes,

"Good morning; I hope you slept well to you too, sire."

Gil-Galad jerked his head in irritation and continued, "First question: have you written the letters yet?"

"I have in kind."

"Good. Second question: I was going to ask Erestor over breakfast but seeing as you're here," he held the parchment out to Thranduil, "could you get the ink blot out of this? I am loathed to write the thing out again."

Thranduil regarded the parchment for a while. "Yes, I could." He carried on downstairs. Gil-Galad watched him go, bemused.

"Well, that's very helpful of you for doing that. Hannon-le."

Thranduil turned slowly, holding his hands up. "Wait! I said I _could,_ not that I _would._ I have my own problems to sort out. In future may I recommend not falling asleep at your desk while writing?"

He carried on down to breakfast, though behind him he heard Gil-Galad mutter 'insufferable Sinda!' under his breath.

At the table, he found the majority of the Elves who ate in the room already assembled. Indeed the king's chair at the table's head and one further down were the only two vacant. The low hum of conversation was in the air, but Erestor seemed agitated.

"I should have ordered a stock-check _before _we had breakfast. What if we've eaten too much?"

"You need to stop worrying," Elrond told him through a mouthful of toast, "I doubt a loaf of bread would make much difference one way or another."

Erestor didn't seem convinced. He slumped glumly in his chair and took a long swig from his goblet. Elrond sighed inwardly but then Thranduil entered and he had something else to talk about.

"Heavens! It's the undead!" He shouted as Thranduil moved around the table to the empty chair. "And I am in its place! Please forgive me, the sourest lord in all the land."

Thranduil smirked and sat down, "Unfortunately for your little jibe, you really are in my place. I shall endeavour to kill you later."

"Remind me to put 'Engrave Thranduil's tombstone' on my to-do list."

Thranduil gave him a long, hard look. Eventually he said, "You don't practice verbal sparring much, do you?"

Elrond coloured as the others round the table grinned and he slumped down into the very bottom of his chair.

"Nice boots," Avorn said when he could.

"Aren't they," Thranduil replied, slowly, "Let us hope they are never abandoned in a forest like those they're copies of."

Erestor lowered his goblet, "How did Avorn get a pair of Saeros' boots to copy in the first place?"

"I gave them to him," Thranduil stated.

"Alright then: how did _you _get them?"

Thranduil looked at him blankly, "Well they weren't any use to anyone once their owner was dead in a ditch, were they?"

"So you stole them?"

"Can you steal from the dead?"

Erestor closed his eyes and gave up before Thranduil won two matches in the space of half an hour, "Do you know where the king is?"

"He had trouble controlling his pen last night. I believe he has gone to tidy himself up before joining us."

Erestor didn't fail to understand the innuendo and rested his forehead against his goblet-holding hand. "Sometimes, Thranduil, I completely and utterly fail to see what Míriel sees in you."

"If you're going to make jokes like that," Avorn added, "At least make them good."

Thranduil wrinkled his nose and admitted that Avorn had a point. But after a suitable amount of time had elapsed, he added, "Unlike Gil-Galad."

"Right!" Erestor exclaimed, jumping up and trying to hide his reddening face, "I have rations to make." He bid the table good morning and hurried off. Thranduil leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, a smug smile on his face. He kept this smile throughout the awkward silences and stilted conversations when the king finally arrived. He opened his eyes only when he sensed Elrond move to go opposite him.

"You see," he said to the Half-Elf, "I have no need of swords to bring people down."

"Which kind of sword are you talking about?" Elrond asked, then caught himself with a groan and by clasping his hand to his face, "Oh, Eru, now I'm doing it."

"It is a terrible illness to be sure," Thranduil said, finally getting up and walking to the doors with the Noldo, "good luck curing yourself of it."

Elrond groaned again as the pair separated; Elrond to attend to his lordly duties, Thranduil to obtain supplies for his journey before Erestor realised they were missing.

The prince gave Erestor an hour before going to find him. The advisor was sat in the middle of the larder, piles of food surrounding him and with parchment in his lap. Erestor looked up to see who it was and mentally sighed when he saw the blond looking at him. He said nothing and pretended to return to his work.

"I see that the floor is the new chair," Thranduil said from the safety of the threshold.

"And there was I," Erestor said slowly, "hoping your irksome mood wouldn't live out the day. How many people have you annoyed so far?"

Thranduil smiled, "Well you, evidently."

Erestor sighed outwardly this time.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Mae," Erestor replied, "go back to bed until this strange frame of mind has passed! In that way you shall do everyone a favour."

Thranduil pouted and picked his way through the food stuffs, "What if I promised to keep my mouth shut? Could I help you then?"

Erestor looked at him warily, "You promise?"

"Na cam-nín or hûn-nín, harthon gwannatha."

Erestor pursed his lips. "You may just get your wish, but I'll believe you. I've almost finished; there isn't much variety down here at this time of year. But take some parchment and graphite and tally the lembas and wine in the next room."

Thranduil grinned, unable to believe his luck, and did as bidden. Though he didn't mark off the dozen or so packages of lembas he stashed about his person.

oOo

"Why is he dressed so formally?"

Elrond had re-joined Gil-Galad and, while Gil-Galad was still trying to salvage his report, Elrond was nursing his hurt.

"Who?" Gil-Galad asked without emotion. His efforts to remove the ink only made it smudge more and he cursed through his teeth.

"Thranduil of course."

"Elrond, you muse on things too long. What do you care how the prince dresses?"

"But he's acting so differently to how he did yesterday!"

"He's Thranduil."

"He's up to something."

"Again; he's Thranduil."

Elrond gave his king a sidelong glance. "You aren't helping, sire."

"Well frankly, penneth, I can't see what I'm supposed to be helping with. But I do know that you're supposed to be helping me with this!"

"Sorry, sire."

There was a knock on the door.

"Honestly, penneth, you need to concentrate. Minno!"

The door opened and in came Thranduil, holding a small bottle in one hand and a square of sponge in the other. He was mixing the contents of the bottle by shaking his wrist as he approached the desk. "Where is the afflicted parchment?" He asked. Gil-Galad handed it over. Thranduil unscrewed the cap of the bottle, placed the blot over the top and the sponge on top of that before upending everything, waiting for a few seconds and turning everything the right way up again. He told Elrond to put the lid back on the bottle and he waved the parchment in the air. "Solvent," he explained as a pungent odour hit the king's nose, "it removes the ink form the parchment. Once it's evaporated you should be able to write in it again although," Thranduil added as he handed the document back to the king, "the parchment might be a bit lighter where the solvent's been at it."

"Hannon le," Gil-Galad began but, taking the sponge off the desk and the bottle from Elrond, Thranduil spoke again:

"Erestor's almost finished cataloguing the supplies."

"So soon!" Gil-Galad exclaimed as the prince made for the door. "That's frightening; there can't be much there. I hope we have enough to feed everyone."

"So do I," Thranduil said, slowly, hand on the doorknob.

Gil-Galad frowned, "That does not constitute permission to travel, Thranduil Oropherion."

Thranduil shrugged, "Well it was worth a try."

As he left, Elrond bit his lower lip: "He gave in far too easily."

As he strode down the corridor, Thranduil willed his heart to stop hammering. Despite his calm façade, he had been paranoid that either Gil-Galad or Elrond would have noticed the lembas under his tunic. But he had had to solve Gil-Galad's parchment problem; finishing the report would keep the king in his office for a few more hours and, by the looks of things, Elrond would be kept with him too. It was true that Erestor had almost finished the stocktaking, but he still had all the ration calculations to complete so that was him out of the way, and the prince was quietly confident that he could sweet-talk Avorn into silence if necessary. He would have to chance it with the rest of the household, though he had a plan to throw them off the scent for a while.

_It's hard to escape from your enemy_, Thranduil thought, _but in many ways it's harder to escape from your friends. _

With that melancholy thought in mind, Thranduil let himself into his room and locked the door behind him. He undid his belt and the leaf-wrapped lembas fell onto the carpet. He packed it in his satchel and quickly changed his white and gold tunic and boots to ones which were dark grey in colour. He looped Nimlhach and his white knife onto his leather belt, put on his satchel and swung a dark grey cloak around his shoulders. If he was spotted he would pretend to be a snow-covered boulder. He'd had no way of securing his arrows while on Gwaihir's back so he had left them on Eryn's saddle when he sent her home with a note explaining what was going on. At the time he'd been annoyed but now he was glad; it was very hard to disguise a bow and quiver and, unlike the possessions still in the wardrobe and drawers, he wouldn't have left them here.

He moved over to the window, opened it, and clambered onto the sill. He sat, poised for several moments, looking out at the snowy but now calm scene. It wasn't inviting.

"You have a knack," his father had told him a few days before his wedding, on a warm spring evening while father and son sat on the bole of a tree drinking wine, "for making big mistakes. Some people make lots of little ones all the time that are of no consequence, but not you. When you make a mistake you make sure the consequences will shake the world. Hah! You take after me in that respect." Oropher had gone on to say that the upcoming marriage was in no way one of them but the conversation didn't replay that far in Thranduil's mind. The thought crossed it that maybe he should take a stick or a cane in case his knee gave out but he soon dismissed it. _If I brought everything I might need I wouldn't be able to move._

He looked behind him at the small heap of clothes on the floor and at the locked door in the far wall. He wondered if he should unlock it but then remembered the presence of the spare key. His eyes narrowed and he turned back round. Bracing himself, he jumped and landed in snow up to his knees. Pulling himself up onto the snow's surface, he checked about him before heading off into the white unknown.

Even the lands around Gil-Galad's palace which were reasonably familiar to Thranduil were transformed by the snow. He avoided the town next to the palace and therefore found himself trekking through dense forest, made black and white in the weather and light, before the trees gave way to rolling grasslands, now completely swamped by snow. He could see the Blue Mountains rising as white-grey peaks from a white ground to a white sky. Despite their coldness, he smiled when he saw them. He need only make it to where Gwaihir dropped him off in the foothills and he would be safe. He knew Gwaihir wouldn't return for a couple of days but he'd rather brave the cold out here than the feeling of entrapment in the palace.

He walked until dusk in the changing landscape which always looked the same. At dusk, he ate and drank before heading out again, watching his footing in case he stepped on an iced over lake and went straight through. Even though Elves do not feel the cold, freezing water was still lethal, but it was the shock more than anything that was dangerous. He did not feel the icy wind as it tried to pull off his hood and get under his cloak. Nor did he feel the numbness creeping into his toes. All he felt was exhilaration at being out at night in such a hostile environment. Thranduil was one of those people who preferred to be cold rather than hot.

Dawn broke and the terrain began to flatten out. During the night he had had to negotiate rocky ground, ground which he could have twisted his ankle on despite the snow. Here there was just grass deep under his feet so he sped up slightly and a spring returned to his steps. He smiled as the sun silhouetted the mountains before him, though they were still far away.

Back at Gil-Galad's palace, his absence was being noticed. Erestor asked Avorn if he had seen the Sinda and, when Avorn said he hadn't, the pair went to ask Elrond, and then the trio went to alert Gil-Galad. They stormed into his study, for the king had stayed up again that night, and told him what they thought.

"I told you he was up to something!" Elrond exclaimed.

Gil-Galad sat with his elbows on his desk, the tips of his fingers pressing lightly together. There was a frown on his face as he looked up at the three Elves around him. "But surely no one's _that_ stupid!"

Thranduil was making good progress and this was making him careless. He stopped checking that there was indeed ground beneath his feet as he walked – he took it for granted that there would be. He looked at the cracks in the snow to either side of him with a distant interest for they broke up the monotony of the white blanket around him. Presently, he saw such a crack in his path, and he could see no way round it. So he took a running jump at it.

His feet touched the snow on the far side. The snow was an overhang with nothing beneath it. As the prince fell through the soft powder, it seemed to him as though time stood still. He could see the individual flakes as they billowed up around him. He watched with distant curiosity as the sides of the ravine rose up above him in their icy majesty. He wondered if the person falling would break their back and almost laughed at the irony. But then he realised that the person falling was him.

* * *

**_Translations:_**

****_Na cam-nín or hûn-nín, harthon gwannatha_ - With my hand on my heart, I hope I will die [read: cross my heart and hope to die]


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: so this is the final push on this one. Sorry if it's rushed but because of that annoying thing called summer I've lost the atmosphere of this. Of course I'll write it as well as I can but I want to close the book on this and start my next bunny. I know it jumps around a lot but there's not much I can do about that DX

* * *

"Míriel!"

No answer.

"_Míriel!_"

Oropher knocked once on the door to his son and daughter-in-law's flet before entering. It was empty. Various clothes were strewn over the floor as though someone had packed a bag and then changed their mind. The king let his forehead rest on the door and sighed; he knew the scene all too well.

"So that makes two of them. Brilliant."

Closing the door again, he floated down the stairs and went in search of an explanation.

"She's _what?_"

Galion pressed his hand to his ear, which was still smarting after being pinched between Oropher's powerful forefinger and thumb. "She's following the snow, sire."

The snow had blown over a few days before and, once it was clear the skies would remain clear for weeks, Míriel had decided that if Thranduil couldn't yet come to her, she'd go to him. Unlike Míriel, Oropher knew only too well the dangers posed by the Blue and Misty Mountains and the knowledge made him feel sick.

"And no one thought to alert me?" He hissed. Galion winced and said nothing. "Please tell me she's not planning on walking!"

Galion shook his head, "She mentioned the Eagles, sire."

Oropher groaned. "Rhachon theryn."

"Are we going after her?"

"No, there's no point more people putting themselves in danger. She's wise and the Eagles will look after her." He realised what he was saying and replayed a similar conversation in his mind. "Gwaihir; nai Ungoliant meditha le," he said aloud and left Galion to work out where Míriel might be.

oOo

Gil-Galad came down to breakfast a few weeks later with a strange expression on his face. Only Elrond and Erestor were down so far and they greeted their king through mouthfuls of toast. Gil-Galad seated himself in his chair at the head of the table and watched his two companions. Something about his expression made them both stop eating.

"Do you want the good news first or the bad news?" The king asked.

Elrond and Erestor looked at each other before answering: "The bad."

"Thranduil's gone."

Erestor's eyes widened, "But the snow clouds are still as threatening as ever. He could be snowed under!"

Gil-Galad nodded.

"So what's the good news?" Elrond asked, buttering another slice of toast. Gil-Galad smiled slightly:

"Thranduil's gone."

Erestor leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, despairingly.

"His Majesty has a very good point," Elrond said. Gil-Galad smiled at his future heir but Erestor was far from amused.

"So are we just going to sit here and let him perish in the cold?"

"No, of course not!" Gil-Galad exclaimed, leaping up from his chair, "We will devise the surest method of finding him and then search from the Blue Mountains to the Sea!"

Erestor opened his eyes, "Well, that does sound pretty thorough."

"Yes! And we shall do this right… after breakfast."

oOo

The bright morning light, reflected on the snow so it gleamed, woke Thranduil. For a moment he forgot where he was as he got to his feet and made to draw the curtains on the day, but then he remembered what had happened and he blinked. He crevasse rose high above his head, a large overhang of snow almost closing it off from the rest of the world. A hole in this overhang showed where he'd crashed through it. To his amazement, when he frisked himself he found bruises and scrapes but nothing serious. For once it seemed the Fates were on his side, more or less. But, he reminded himself, the fact still remained that he was stuck down here with no means of escaping. So, pulling his cloak around him, he sat back down and awaited developments.

oOo

Dawn broke slowly over the palace. Elrond sat with his chin in his hand, worrying. He and Thranduil may not see eye to eye but he was a healer and as such he couldn't help imagining al the gruesome situations that might have found the prince. With only the slightest shiver, he visualised severed limbs, blue skin, broken bones.

Gil-Galad and Erestor had been discussing the best method for hours now, or so it seemed to the Half-Elf. It seemed Erestor's urgency had completely left him and had found a new home in Elrond. Besides, if Thranduil was fine, the longer they waited the further away he would get from the palace.

"Have you reached a decision yet?" He finally exclaimed. Gil-Galad watched him calmly.

"Lord Elrond; it is only now dawn, what's the rush?"

"Mae; it is only now dawn, but in five hours it will be dusk!"

Gil-Galad twitched but all he would say was: "I hate winter."

Elrond chewed his lip, deliberating what to do next, but his mind was decided for him when he saw a bobbing flaxen head pass on the far side of the translucent screens which blocked the gaps between the pillars and stopped cold air circulating. Unnoticed, he got up and followed Avorn.

"You have heard about Thranduil, I assume," Elrond half stated, half asked as he leant on a pillar in the enormous ball room.

"I have," Avorn replied with vague disinterest. Evidently the piece of silver wire he was shaping was more important.

"You don't sound too worried."

Avorn shrugged, "I'm not. The world is dangerous but people survive."

"Yes," Elrond said slowly, "but it only takes one thing for people to perish."

"I sincerely doubt that someone who survived the horrors of the First Age would fall foul of a snowdrift."

"So one might think, but I have heard of a warrior who fought in _both_ wars only to die from tripping on his own stairs and breaking his neck at the bottom."

Avorn looked up from the now spiralling wire, "You speak the truth?"

"Of course."

Avorn fixed him with a gaze surprisingly intense for someone usually so meek. Elrond found himself wondering what Avorn would do if Elrond tried to enthral him. There was something about the Elf which would fight to the death for its freedom. "What's your point?" Avorn asked.

"Erestor and Gil-Galad are supposedly organising a search party for Thranduil-"

"Who probably doesn't even need one."

"Would you be quiet and listen to me!" Elrond exclaimed. Something flashed in Avorn's eyes but the older Elf said nothing. Elrond couldn't explain it but suddenly he felt as though he were talking to a complete and utter stranger. "Well," he continued, reigning in all his authority, "as I said they're organising a search party for Thranduil but they aren't going to get anywhere. So I was wondering if you'd be willing to come with me and look for him."

"Just us."

"Mae."

"Searching the length and breadth of the foothills."

"Mae."

"In the snow."

Elrond's 'mae' was so quiet it was barely audible. "We'd take dogs with us."

"I don't think they'd pick up much scent," Avorn said, coldly. He looked Elrond up and down for a while before saying, "I must be mad. Get the dogs."

Half an hour or so later, while Erestor and Gil-Galad were still talking about anything and everything under the sun _other _than rescuing Thranduil, Elrond and Avorn were leaving the palace behind them, dogs jumping and yapping around them, making their slow way east. As Avorn had predicted, even though no more snow had fallen, and scent Thranduil had left had disappeared. The dogs were becoming agitated and their agitation was affecting the Elves.

"We need to use our heads," Avorn said when they stood on the crest of a hill and looked down at the long stretch of bare whiteness before them. "We need to work out where Thranduil would have gone."

"It all looks the same to me," Elrond muttered. He no longer thought his plan was 'inspired'.

"And to me."

"Are you any good at tracking?"

"Not in the slightest."

Elrond pursed his lips, "Me neither."

"Well," Avorn said, "this is going to be a piece of cake then, isn't it?"

And so, with the sun in their eyes, the two Elves half walked, half skidded down the other side of the hill and continued their search.

It was at about this moment that Thranduil realised –painfully – that his skin stuck to the ice if he wasn't careful, and that Erestor and Gil-Galad completely forgot what they had met to discuss.

oOo

"The dogs!"

"What about them?"

"They've smelt something; look!"

Avorn and Elrond hurried after the dogs in the gathering gloom – they had been searching for just under 8 hours – and stopped behind them as the scrabbled at what seemed to be a narrow fissure in the snow.

"He can't be down there," Elrond exclaimed, pulling the dogs away and crawling forward towards the crack. He called down, "Suilad?" expecting no response and almost lost his balance when a voice yelled back:

"Get away from the edge!"

"Thranduil; is that you?"

"_No, it's a demon who stole his voice _of course it's me!"

"How did you get down there?"

"Move backwards before you find out!"

Thranduil could see the silhouette of the Elf-lord on the overhang and his heart was in his mouth. He realised that, in the darkness, Elrond wouldn't be able to see the hole Thranduil had made, which meant:

"You're in terrible danger. You have to move!"

Elrond finally got the message and scrambled backwards but too late. The overhang gave way and Elrond, accompanied by a rush of snow, fell onto the ledge next to Thranduil.

Thranduil looked up at the now oh so visible cloudy sky, only to have it eclipsed by Avorn's head as he leant over from the safety of the fissure's edge to assess the situation.

"Are you both alright?"

"A few bruises and scrapes but apart from that not too bad. Oh, and the being trapped part isn't so fantastic either."

"Well you can't be in too much danger if you think you can be sarcastic with your rescuers."

"Do you have rope with you?" Thranduil asked, pointedly.

Avorn blushed, "Not exactly."

"What amazing rescuers you are."

One of the dogs sniffed around the edge of the crevasse and, whining, made to jump down. Thranduil's eyes widened, "_No,_ dog. Avorn, stop him!"

Avorn looked from Elrond to the dog and then back to Elrond again before addressing Thranduil, "Elrond is part mortal; he will feel the cold."

"Then I'll lend him my cloak," Thranduil replied, suddenly aware that Elrond hadn't said anything since he fell.

"I think it would be wise to leave a dog or two with you." Avorn said, calmly, "They could warm Elrond up much better than you."

"I am not having dogs down here with me!"

"Oh for Manwë's sake, Thranduil! Elrond's only in this mess because he tried to find you, now you can stop being pathetic and let a few harmless animals down there to keep him alive!" Without waiting for the Sinda's answer, Avorn whistled and two of the dogs sprung down and yapped at the Elves. Thranduil's face drained of colour but Avorn's thoughts were racing ahead. "Keep him alive while I run to get help," he ordered before taking off with the remaining dogs, keeping pace with them even as they ran.

Thranduil shooed the dogs away to the far end of the crevasse before crawling towards Elrond. The lord was dazed but awake, and he fixed the Sinda with a long cold stare:

"Fantastic, now I'm stuck down here with _you._"

"Have no fear; I'm not revelling in the prospect either."

oOo

It was pitch black when Avorn returned. He doubled over on the threshold, panting, before he went in search of Gil-Galad. Like every other night in recent weeks, the Elvenking was still up, working on reports. He looked up in surprise when Avorn entered and told him what had happened. When he finished his tale, Gil-Galad's face was dark and stormy.

"Thranduil can survive the winter night temperatures but Elrond can't. We cannot get him out before tomorrow now but we shall leave as soon as you are ready."

"I have to come?"

"You are the only one who knows where this crevasse is."

Avorn nodded. Gil-Galad rose and placed a hand on Avorn's shoulder, "You have done well, penneth, much better than I. But I ask you to do this one thing more. It shall take around an hour to have everything ready; will you be ready to leave again by then?"

"Aye, sire."

Gil-Galad clapped him on the back and left to make preparations.

oOo

As the night wore on, Thranduil found it harder and harder to keep Elrond awake. Though the snow hadn't returned, a wind had picked up which howled through the crevasse, pulling at clothing and sucking the life out of Elf and dog. Long ago Thranduil had pulled the Noldo into his arms and had wrapped his cloak around him but the raven-haired Elf's cheek still felt deathly cold against his own and Elrond's breathing kept slowing. Thranduil was pinching and slapping him to often now; he was fighting a losing battle. At the far end of the crevasse, the two dogs watched, whining. Thranduil's gaze flicked between them and their master, whose lips had taken on a pale blue tinge.

Eventually, in fear and frustration, Thranduil muttered 'hang it!' and called the dogs over. They scrambled to their feet and practically threw themselves at the Elves. One lay over the Elves' chests and the other spread itself on Elrond's legs. Thranduil began singing in a low voice, partly to reassure Elrond, and partly to placate the dogs which, in the Sinda's eyes, were evidently just waiting for a chance to sink their teeth into his arm. In reality, they were waiting for Elrond's praise and a bone. Around midnight, Elrond woke up enough to pull up his knees, so the dogs shifted and the rest of the night was spent with just the Elves' heads showing above the large dogs' fur. Elrond was almost warm and Thranduil was petrified.

Judging by the boniness of the chest he was leaning against, Elrond assumed it was Thranduil's. _When I get out of this mess,_ he thought dazedly _I'm trying him to a chair and forcing a square meal down his neck._ But then he began to have doubts, for the soft fur he felt on his other side could only belong to a dog, and Thranduil and dogs in such close vicinity could never be. Though he was too tired and, strangely, too comfortable to truly question this, so he kept his eyes closed and listened to the sounds around him. Someone was singing.

But as the sun crested the side of the fissure once more, something went terribly wrong.

oOo

It seemed to Avorn that the journey back to the crevasse was taking far longer than before. Gil-Galad, Erestor and the various other lords they had brought with them seemed to be moving like snails. The dogs were running round them in wide circles. Avorn wished he could join them; he had too much energy. The rope wrapped across his shoulder chafed his neck and the staff he'd brought with him this time sank so deep into the snow that unless he concentrated he staggered over to his right.

The featureless plain between the forests and the foothills seemed to stretch like elastic. No matter how far they walked they seemed to cover no ground, but then suddenly they'd look up and the mountains would loom over them. It was doing Avorn's head in, and that wasn't easily done. The conversation of the others seemed immaterial and hollow, even though he knew that they were trying to cover their anxiety as much as he was with his silence. He wasn't at all fearful for the Sinda but Elrond was another matter.

When the sun had climbed up to her highest and was hanging in the sky in the perfect position to dazzle the Elves below, Erestor pointed up towards the mountains at a black spot which was getting gradually larger. They all stopped to watch it, which annoyed Avorn even more.

"It's an Eagle!" One of the lords announced. Avorn felt as though someone had struck him on the head; in his experience Eagles showed up only when the situation was dire. He hoped the lord was wrong but it was indeed an Eagle. It circled them, all the time losing altitude, and then flew away in front of them. A small figure jumped from its back, flailed in the air, and twisted onto its back before it hit the snow.

The figure sat up in the impression it had made and shook the snow out of its hair as the company rushed towards it. It turned when it heard noises behind it and looked as surprised to see the group of Elves as the group was to see it.

"Míriel," Gil-Galad said, disbelievingly.

Míriel spread her arms and fanned out her fingers in response before pulling herself out of the snow and dusting down the coat she'd borrowed.

"You jumped too soon," Avorn said, flatly, "that's why your landing was so catastrophic."

"Hello to you too, Avorn," Míriel said as she brushed the flakes off the coat's skirts, felt something in one of the pockets, put her hand in, pulled out a small figurine of an owl, shrugged and put it back in the pocket. Then she turned her attention to the rest of the group and her face fell, "I suppose your being here suggests there's something wrong."

Gil-Galad nodded, "My lady; we have misplaced your husband."

In response to Míriel's wide eyes, Avorn added, "We've misplaced Elrond as well so both realms have a representative." He proceeded to briefly explain the situation. When he'd finished, Míriel looked worried,

"Thranduil will be alright, his middle name's 'Tas', but Elrond could easily have frozen to death overnight." She gave the company the once over again, "It's a good thing I'm here; fancy going on a rescue mission without a healer. You Noldor really are daft."

They came upon the fissure all of a sudden. It seemed to open up under their feet. Gingerly, they walked along until they came upon the place where the snow had fallen in. Gil-Galad knelt as close to the edge as he dared and looked down. What he saw surprised him, and for a moment he wondered if Thranduil's fear of dogs was just a joke designed to make his – Gil-Galad's – life more difficult. The dogs stirred as they smelt their owner and they struggled and made noises of greeting. Thranduil looked up into the king's face and his expression froze Gil-Galad's.

"What is it?"

"It's Elrond. I can't wake him."

"Avorn," Míriel ordered, her voice business-like, "throw down the rope. Someone else, kneel down and hold that staff beyond the overhand and throw the rope over that. It'll be easier to pull people up that way."

Thranduil blinked and mouthed, "Míriel's there?" Gil-Galad nodded and Thranduil mentally groaned; on top of everything else now the situation was embarrassing! He'd be lucky if he'd heard the end of the teasing by this time next year. 'Remember to look before you leap Your Highness. The most dangerous thing you can do is aim to jump a crevasse in two strides.'

"Take the rope."

Sluggishly, he pushed the dogs off him and Elrond and half dragged, half carried the lord to where the end of the rope hung like a snake a few inches off the shelf they were on. Carefully, he tied Elrond to it and persuaded him to grip the rope. Above his head, he heard Avorn's command to pull, and slowly Elrond began to rise out of the gash in the ground. Thranduil guided his ascent for as long as he could reach and then stood looking up anxiously.

On the ground, Míriel took off her husband's coat and pulled it on the Noldo once the rope had been untied. Elrond's eyelids flickered and Míriel passed him over to Erestor and two of the other lords, who proceeded to rub life back into the lord's frozen limbs. She moved next to Gil-Galad, knelt down and looked down at her husband and the dogs barking around him, their tails wagging now that their freedom was neigh. Thranduil looked at her nervously and, when she'd reassured herself that he was indeed fit and well, she yelled down to him:

"You. _Idiot!" _

Thranduil winced, partly because of his wife's words and partly because one of the dogs was jumping up at him and putting its paws on his hip. Míriel watched the situation with half a smile on her lips.

"We could bring Thranduil up next and send someone else to tie on the dogs," Gil-Galad suggested, but Míriel shook her head.

"Why would we do that? My darling husband is more than capable of securing a couple of wolves."

Thranduil paled, "Why are you so cruel!"

"Not cruel, just practical," she replied before yelling behind her, "Hurry up with that rope before we have a panic attack to deal with and all!"

Eventually, with the dogs prancing with their fellows in the vast open space, Míriel and Gil-Galad caught hold of Thranduil's wrists and pulled him up. But when Gil-Galad let go of the prince, Míriel pulled him clear of both the crevasse and the group before kissing him passionately.

"Promise me you won't do anything so boneheaded again," she said, laughing as she spoke.

"You know I can't promise that," Thranduil replied, resting his forehead against hers. "Besides you came to find me as much as I came to find you."

"Yes," Míriel affirmed, "but _I_ didn't then proceed to fall down a crevasse and put someone else's life in danger."

"How is he?"

"Cold. But he has no ills a warm fire and a square meal can't solve. You were both very lucky."

Thranduil opened his mouth but Míriel spoke first, "Are you about to say something soppy about how, because of me, you're lucky no matter what?"

"Yes."

Míriel smiled, "Well consider it said so you can move on to saying something more original." She pecked her husband on the cheek again, before letting him hold her slightly away from him. Thranduil cocked his head in the way that made her melt,

"We're rather catty today, aren't we?"

"I could have lost you," Míriel said, quietly, leaning against Thranduil's chest again.

Thranduil stroked her hair, "Are you staying?"

"Well I have no horse and the Eagle's flown so yes. Besides I came to be with you; just because I found you in difficulty doesn't mean I'm going to leave as soon as the difficulty's over."

A comfortable silence fell between them, and they could hear the voices behind them as Elrond regained consciousness.

"Are you alright?" Gil-Galad's voice.

"Not really. I have a splitting headache." Elrond's. Quiet but strong.

"The Noldor are so noisy," Thranduil muttered so only Míriel could hear.

"Tsk, melluin. They can't help it; they aren't as intelligent as the Teleri," she joked. They remained apart from the rest of the group for a while, before Míriel sighed and said, "I think I'm needed."

_I meth_

* * *

A/N: well I hope you enjoyed that after all! Now to move it to my 'Completed' file and work on the next one :)

**Translations:**

_Rhachon __Theryn_ – I curse [the] Eagles

_nai Ungoliant meditha le_ – may Ungoliant devour you

_Suilad_ – hello

_Tas _– trouble

_Melliun _– dear


End file.
